Loving the Unloveable
I am not as confident with my mental illness as I would like for people to believe I am. Whether it be past experiences, or simply my overactive anxiety feeding me lies, I find I'm extremely insecure about how my behavior comes off to other people--the ones that don't understand. The ones who think I'm rude, unreliable, or not righteous enough. The people that mistake sadness for depression. The ones that think I'm immature or seeking attention. The ones that have never had to stare suicidal ideations in the face and decide to keep pushing forward.
Fortunately for them, a large amount of the population gets to be the ones that simply do not understand. Depression, anxiety, obsessive compulsions, or personality disorders are not the trials they have been dealt in mortality, and so, they get to live on unaware of how crippling one's mind can be. That's not to say they haven't experienced sadness--that is a part of life no one has immunity to--but they use the terms "sadness" and "depression" interchangeably, as if there was no difference. I do not wish to condemn any of these individuals, but, instead, illuminate the differences.
Google defines sadness as, "feeling or showing sorrow; [unhappiness]." Whereas the definition of depression is, "a mental condition characterized by feelings of severe despondency (loss of hope or courage) and dejection, typically also with feelings of inadequacy and guilt, often accompanied by lack of energy and disturbance of appetite and sleep." However, it is not the technical differences I find people struggle with--it's what these difference look like in human, not written, form. They struggle with understanding that a person's mind could function differently from their own.
They do not understand how someone could feel so empty, so hopeless, they would want to end their lives. They do not comprehend how one could justify self-mutilation. They get bitter and judgmental when plans are cancelled because one cannot stop crying, or worse yet, even get out of bed. They call people out for using their illness as a "crutch" to justify poor behavior and bad manners. Because they cannot sympathize, the problem is only a delusion.
I know several people that think this way, believing depression is "just in your head" and that one must simply "get over it." However, I've had an array of experiences in my lifetime that have proved otherwise. One of which happens to be a type of treatment referred to as "brain mapping." Disclaimer: I do not necessarily feel like the treatment was beneficial in "healing" my illness, but it painted a clear picture of the reality of my situation.
When I was in an intensive outpatient program, I was encouraged to have my brain mapped and then treated accordingly with varying stimulation of my brainwaves, in an attempt to increase productivity. The first step of the process was to scan the waves my brain was producing. These brainwaves are vital to daily functioning. Anxiety creates an overproduction, depression does not produce enough.
Fortunately for them, a large amount of the population gets to be the ones that simply do not understand. Depression, anxiety, obsessive compulsions, or personality disorders are not the trials they have been dealt in mortality, and so, they get to live on unaware of how crippling one's mind can be. That's not to say they haven't experienced sadness--that is a part of life no one has immunity to--but they use the terms "sadness" and "depression" interchangeably, as if there was no difference. I do not wish to condemn any of these individuals, but, instead, illuminate the differences.
Google defines sadness as, "feeling or showing sorrow; [unhappiness]." Whereas the definition of depression is, "a mental condition characterized by feelings of severe despondency (loss of hope or courage) and dejection, typically also with feelings of inadequacy and guilt, often accompanied by lack of energy and disturbance of appetite and sleep." However, it is not the technical differences I find people struggle with--it's what these difference look like in human, not written, form. They struggle with understanding that a person's mind could function differently from their own.
They do not understand how someone could feel so empty, so hopeless, they would want to end their lives. They do not comprehend how one could justify self-mutilation. They get bitter and judgmental when plans are cancelled because one cannot stop crying, or worse yet, even get out of bed. They call people out for using their illness as a "crutch" to justify poor behavior and bad manners. Because they cannot sympathize, the problem is only a delusion.
I know several people that think this way, believing depression is "just in your head" and that one must simply "get over it." However, I've had an array of experiences in my lifetime that have proved otherwise. One of which happens to be a type of treatment referred to as "brain mapping." Disclaimer: I do not necessarily feel like the treatment was beneficial in "healing" my illness, but it painted a clear picture of the reality of my situation.
When I was in an intensive outpatient program, I was encouraged to have my brain mapped and then treated accordingly with varying stimulation of my brainwaves, in an attempt to increase productivity. The first step of the process was to scan the waves my brain was producing. These brainwaves are vital to daily functioning. Anxiety creates an overproduction, depression does not produce enough.
When my scan had been completed, the examiner handed me the results with tears in her eyes. My scan was as blue as I felt; ranking my severe depression as part of only 0.02% of the population. She held my hand and applauded me for having been able to even get out of bed that morning, because she hadn't ever seen a result that low before. That was the first time in my life I had felt the Spirit confirming my depression; at that moment I knew I had an illness--something physically discernible--that needed treatment. Up until that point, I was one who didn't understand. I told myself to just "get over it," to "pray harder," and that I was just "overreacting."
Did that realization change my actions? No. I still struggled to shower. I still would cancel plans with others last minute because I fighting off suicidal ideations. I still tore myself down with negative self talk. I still longed to vanish from existence. It wasn't until I was put on the right medications that my functionality returned to what I deemed "normal." But it did teach me to be more compassionate. I learned to move past my depressive episodes when I started to move back towards "normal." I learned to empathize with other people struggling themselves. It taught me to be more like the Savior, and will likely continue to do so throughout my mortal life.
To those who show compassion and understanding towards those afflicted with a mental illness, I applaud you. It takes a certain level of selflessness to move past your own concept of reality to accept the darkness of someone else's. It is my personal request to the rest of you to show kindness. Do not blame them any more than you would blame one for developing cancer. It takes courage to say, "I am going to live today" when every ounce of your being begs you otherwise. Christ spent His time in mortality with those deemed "unloveable" (Matthew 9:10-12; Mark 5:25-34--to simply name a few), may we all look beyond ourselves and do the same.
Comments
Post a Comment